


The Flautist and the Retired Bounty Hunter

by apple_08



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Gay, M/M, Other, Samurai Jack - Freeform, franmouche - Freeform, please spread the word, this fandom is tiny, we need help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_08/pseuds/apple_08
Summary: Francis (aka "French Robot") is sulking in his usual dusty old pub when a breath of fresh air livens up the wind section of the band.(I wrote this for a friend, and I just hope I did them justice).
Relationships: franmouche, scaramouche/francis, scaramouche/french robot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	The Flautist and the Retired Bounty Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowSlayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/gifts).



Francis watched the light glint off the new robot in the pub. He was a one-man band, his highlight instrument obviously being his flute, and though only a handful of the patrons were paying him any attention, he clearly thought he deserved it all.

Francis looked down at his own hands, rusted over, dull, and folded his fingers over each other. Being an old robot in the glittering future was something he still couldn’t wrap his mind around. Maybe it simply wasn’t in his coding? That was something else he couldn’t wrap his mind around, and maybe that wasn’t in his coding.

Though it seemed as though the show would go on forever, the one-man band ended his performance abruptly, at 7:00PM, and dashed out the door.

As the same old tune cranked up on the pub speaker system, Francis found himself missing the talented flautist; maybe its just because he’s a robot, but he felt like, nothing really changed around here. The music, at least, was a welcome break from the monotony.

\--

Kicking down the same path he used to wander, out for bounty, or with a bounty on his own head, Francis tried to make something new of the experience. This same dirt had been walked on by many different people. Those leaves -thought borne from the same tree- were entirely different than the leaves that fell and stuck to his dismembered body, on one unfortunate encounter in his past.

(It had taken days for him to be found and recovered. Whoever reconstructed him didn’t care much to do a good job. All his old broken pieces were patched together with the equivalent of gum and rubberbands and he was sent on his merry way, a new creak in his left leg he can’t get rid of).

When he found himself back at the same old pub, he chuckled at his predictability. He ordered the cheapest oil shot he could get. He toyed around with miniature gear toss game at every table. Half the pieces were missing. He sighed into his cup.

The flautist was back, except this time, just a head. Still, it was a beautiful head. He was jabbering excitedly to anyone who would hear him. Maybe its because he was made of a tougher metal than Francis, but he seemed to have lost none of his spirit (or his shine).

Francis’ guess was the flautist suffered a similar fate as he had, except he still came out of it in a somewhat better condition. 

Jealousy, is the emotion that Francis recognized he was feeling. Jealousy for being shiny and new and dismantled but still somehow so much more put together. He wanted to take that beautiful head, and put it on his own body, mismatched as it might be. 

He finished his drink quickly, and left before his jealousy grew any bigger.

\--

When he saw the flautist again, it was at the most unexpected place. Wandering into a relatively barren hellscape, Francis was tempted to finally end it all. His metal was all old and rusted; just a few hours in extreme heat and his outer shell would be damaged beyond repair. A whole 24 hours in that heat, and his CPU would be gone as well.

But then he saw the flautist, a shiny head on top of a less attractive body. The flautist seemed to think this too, as he was constantly trying to brush the rust off his joins, and flex his fingers to his former capacity. (Francis’ just open and close; rather primitive, he’s reluctant to admit).

He was going to pass him by without a word, but then the flautist spoke out towards him.

“Hey you there! Frenchie!”

Francis looked puzzled; pointed at himself.

“Yeah you. Come here, babe, I need help with this jacket.”

Francis hobbled over, more aware than ever of his creaky leg.

“Yeah -nope- okay, gently, just like that babe… perfect!”

His rich purple coat was relatively unharmed (unlike the rest of him) and now that it fit more snugly over his shoulders, a lot of the other rust and broken bits were well-disguised. He looked gallant; dare Francis even say, handsome.

“You must have a lot of experience dealing with fine material,” the flautist said, throwing in a wink at the end.

Francis chuckled.

“Maybe a long time ago…” Though he’s trying to maintain his composure, Francis can’t help but remember a time he had aspirations. He was going to get a big bounty, and buy all the finest things for himself. Look how that turned out…

“Well maybe,” the flautist said, leaning in conspiratorially, “you just need to get back in the habit.” He winked again.

Francis laughed, this time dryer, and felt his stiff, old, fingers unclench.

The flautist threw his head back and laughed. “Oh you are just a charmer, now, aren’t you babe?” He shook his head, tucking a small smile down into his chest before looping one arm through Francis’ and tugging him out of the desert. “Follow me babe, and be quick! We don’t have much time to waste!”

Francis knew that for a being like him, time was a non-issue. Either you live forever, or someone dismantles you for parts, but most robots tend to live quiet lives, out of the way of the bounty trade. At one time he planned to be rich and immortal; just this afternoon he planned to discontinue his entire existence. And now…

“Please tell me where you got your hat, by the way, its absolutely fabulous.”

Francis smiled. Something that felt familiar, yet foreign. Maybe an old robot can learn new tricks. Maybe he can remember his old ones.


End file.
